


Rough and Tumble

by hellhounds4sale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, PWP, Wall Sex, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhounds4sale/pseuds/hellhounds4sale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's not exactly sure how they got to this point. He remembers the faint glow of enjoyment and exasperation that is arguing with someone who gives as good as they get, and he remembers Crowley hitting Sam-shaped sore spots enough times to get a rise out of him. He's just not sure where slamming Crowley into the wall, knife against his throat, somehow translated into being pressed up against the wall himself with Crowley's lips on his and his own hands slipped up under the back of Crowley's shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough and Tumble

Dean's not exactly sure how they got to this point. He remembers the faint glow of enjoyment and exasperation that is arguing with someone who gives as good as they get, and he remembers Crowley hitting Sam-shaped sore spots enough times to get a rise out of him. He's just not sure where slamming Crowley into the wall, knife against his throat, somehow translated into being pressed up against the wall himself with Crowley's lips on his and his own hands slipped up under the back of Crowley's shirt.

  
He's finding it fairly hard too care though, as Crowley's lips and teeth are wicked on the curve of Dean's jaw and the taught column of his neck. His hands work up under Dean's shirt, nails scratching at his skin slightly until Crowley can pinch one nipple and Dean groans faintly, chest pressing up into the touch even as he rakes his own nails down Crowley's back in revenge. The demon snarls, teeth sinking into the flesh of Dean's shoulder just enough to make him moan again.

 

Crowley steps back, suit rumpled and hair twisted from where Dean's had his fingers through it, and the sight sends a little ping of want-need to Dean's gut, that only deepens when Crowley slides in to kiss him again, all clever tongue and the faint taste of blood on his lips.

  
When Crowley slips away again this time it's downwards, and Dean can't bring himself to look away from the sight of Crowley crouched before him, hands rubbing across the denim of his thighs. Then there's just the press of hands and hot breath on the skin of his belly as Crowley works at his belt buckle and the fastening of his jeans. The spike of cool air when Crowley finally gets his jeans undone makes Dean shudder, and he does so again when fingers curl around the hard length of his cock and pump once, thumb rubbing against the slick head.

 

"Such a pretty boy down here too." Crowley's voice is thick with amusement, and Dean opens his mouth to cuss the demon out in response only to stutter to a stop, head thumping back against the wall, when Crowley licks at the tip of his cock. The demon hums faintly and then pauses, tongue pressed to the head of Deans dick, thumbs sweeping across the hollows of his hip bones until Dean looks down at him again. As soon as he's sure he's got Deans attention, Crowley smirks, locks eyes with him and then slides down the length of Dean's cock until his nose presses against Dean's groin.

  
It's all tight, wet heat and the (not so) accidental scrap of teeth and flicker of tongue until Dean looses himself to the slick slide of Crowley's mouth around his cock, fingers gripped death tight into the shoulders of Crowley's suit. The demon moves just slow enough for it to be utterly infuriating and Dean's hands sink into his hair, tug fruitlessly and get nothing but a low growl and Crowley reaching up to slap his hands away in response. Spitefully Dean reaches back down, dodging the demon's own hands to tug sharply on a lock of hair and Crowley snarls around his cock in a way that leaves Dean gasping, arching back against the wall.

 

Crowley pulls away, one last flick of his tongue against the head of Dean's cock before he's slithering back up to press his mouth against Dean's. He tastes bitter, like smoke and something dark and, most thrillingly, like Dean. Then Crowley sinks his teeth into Dean's lip, hard enough that he can feel the flesh split, tastes the sharp copper of his blood as it fills his mouth.

  
"Turn around sweetheart," Crowley's voice is a low growl as he pulls away, still licking blood from his own lips and his hands are firm on Dean's hips. He suits his actions to his words, pulling and shoving until Dean's bent forward, elbows against the wall and jeans shoved down around his knees. His skin prickles where it's exposed to the night air and Crowley's hands on his flanks are hot brands that seem to burn deep down into him, that leave Dean shivering and his cock aching.

 

Crowley pats at his hip, one quick movement that's equal parts galling and thrilling and Dean barely has time to react to that before Crowley presses a finger up into him. Dean groans, it's not like he hasn't done this before but admittedly it's been a while, and he gulps in a deep breath and focuses on forcing himself to relax while Crowley's fingers stroke and slide within him. His fingers are slick in a way that's not the slightest bit natural and the realization that Crowley planned this (or at least always comes prepared) sends a hot flash of anger-want-hate through Dean that leaves him light-headed and gasping in its wake. Though maybe that's just the way Crowley's fingers press against his prostate. The demon's relentless setting up a constant rhythm of press and stroke as he works Dean open, his other hand a hot presence against Dean's hip that’s practically the only thing keeping him up.

  
When Crowley's fingers finally slip out if his hole, Dean gasps, shudders once and then twists, the sudden move breaking Crowley's grip on his hip in surprise, and Dean surges up, mouth hungry against the demon's own, hands frantic on the cloth and buttons of Crowley's fly, unwilling to play the passive any longer. If Crowley's disappointed he hides it well, returning the kiss with just as much heat and after a moment of fumbling his hands brush aside Dean's to work the fastenings on his trousers. His hand catches Dean by the wrist, drawing him in to curl his fingers around Crowley's cock and _oh fuck that's a demons dick in his hand_ \- that's _Crowley's_ dick hot and hard under his fingers. Dean squeezes experimentally and the low guttural groan that produces from Crowley sends a flush of proud excitement through him.

 

He squeezes again, and again, drags his palm up the length of Crowley's dick, repeats the move adding a swipe of his thumb across the head and practically vibrates at the low hungry sound that produces. It's fascinating, and every stroke and sound from Crowley makes it that much better until Deans practically punch drunk on the power of having Crowley - of having the _king of hell_ crows the small voice in the back of his head - shuddering and sighing into his neck, hands flexing against his hips and breath coming in sharp little pants.

 

"Mm, knew you'd be good at that, sweet little tart like you," Crowley practically purrs, "and as tempting as it is to let you get me off like this and leave you wanting... I've been dying to fuck you." He's moving as he speaks, hiking one of Dean's legs up around Crowley's hips and it takes a moment for his words to filter through the fog of Dean's brain. He opens his mouth to snap, hands curling into fists and righteous anger bubbling up in his chest and then Crowley thrusts once, sharp and relentless and drives his cock up into Dean, stuffing him full in a way that drives all thoughts of fighting from his head. Dean shudders, once, twice, and then despite all his determination not too, lifts his other leg to wrap around Crowley's waist, pulling the demon in closer and sinking down further on his cock in the process. Crowley's hands are on his hips again, and the rough brick of the wall scrapes at the back of his jacket, catches at Dean's hair as his head thumps back against it, neck bared to Crowley's mouth and teeth.

  
Crowley bites at the curve of his jaw, the line of his throat; mouth hot and heavy. The hands on Dean's hips are supernaturally strong, and they keep him pinned easily as Crowley fucks him. His thrusts are fast and hard, rapid slam of hips against his own that leaves Dean gasping for breath between almost sobbing cries. It's good, more than good and Dean's heart is pounding in his chest, too fast drumming in counterpart to the measure of Crowley's thrusts. It's not a pace Dean can keep up, not a pace any human could keep for long, and it doesn't take much before he's sobbing out his completion, cum spurting across his chest cock untouched and Crowley's laughter is dark and amused and breathless. The demon doesn't slow his pace, for all the Dean's limp and boneless sandwiched between him and the wall, and Dean knows that Crowley isn't going to tire any time soon if he doesn't want to. Not unless Dean does something to change that anyway.

  
"Come on you bastard, cum already," Dean mutters, low and rough and then with an effort he lifts his arms to wrap them around Crowley's neck, dragging him in for a kiss, all teeth and tongue, even as he tightens internal muscles, clamping down around the cock inside him and its wholly gratifying to hear-feel Crowley groan against his lips. The demon thrusts into him a couple more times and then there's slick heat filling him as Crowley's hips press tight against Dean's own, breath a low stutter in the back of his throat. Dean grimaces at the feeling, belatedly wishing he'd made Crowley pull out first.

 

After a moment of gasping breath, Crowley pulls away with a low chuckle and a parting slap to Dean's hip. His skin feels too cold where the demon was pressed against him and there's slick wetness sliding down his thighs that Dean's deliberately not thinking about. By the time Dean catches his own breath and looks up at Crowley, he's already fixed his clothing and looks infuriatingly as unruffled as ever.

 

“Thanks for the ride pet,” Crowley's voice practically drips with self-satisfaction and the smirk he shoots Dean is enough to make his temper rise again, “But I really must dash, busy demon and all that.” Crowley darts in as he finishes speaking, to press his lips against Dean's, tongue rasping across the line of blood on his chin, and then he's gone leaving Dean alone.

 


End file.
